Small Talks
by KPtheMoviesaholic
Summary: You think you know them and even their relationship. Hear the truth from Cato's and Clove's lips as they sit down and reveal the story to you. Careful, they do bite.
1. Her

**Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own it.**

You know us. We were never one for small talks.

We liked to pretend we knew each other—and others (hint: here's where you slip us a little praise for being such good actors) were fooled into believing so—when we hardly did.

Yes, we were from the same District, but what was the point? So were that little attention whore and her blonde wimp.

But they couldn't compare to us. No, not the slightest.

xxxx

Cato held back his chuckle the second Caesar Flickerman worked his magic and truth (not that it was an oh-so-great secret) slipped out. I could tell he was trying. Good God. The poor boy was so sweet, so honest, so straightforward. I'd never seen—or met (or wish I'd ever met)—a genuinely nice (ugh) boy as was Mellark.

I smirked at him, saying nothing, knowing he'd ignore me as usual. We were sitting in our seats, just backstage, watching the rest of them get on with the angles, words, twirls, and charms. Oh, it was ridiculous.

I wasn't a crowd-pleaser like Cato. That boy—just by the way he was built—could have an entire city in his hands. Or a pack of girls. He had to offer the public a mere smile, and they'd go crazy over pushing and beating each other to get in line for his autograph. Our charismatic killer, that's what our teacher used to call him back in Two.

I was the exact opposite. I suppose you could call me a creep (though that wouldn't be very nice of you, would it? Considering I'm taking my fair share of time out of training to talk to you…and my knives are getting a bit lonely without real targets to practice with...Oh, okay. You wouldn't? Good.), but I was always hanging in the back of classes, throwing knives. Yeah. Absentmindedly or intently. Seemed like it was all I did.

I didn't have many friends. I guess it kind of got into the way. People judged me as soon as they saw me, or exchanged a single sentence with me in a rare conversation (You should know by now that my knives did most of my talking for me. Or, well, a lack of.) Aloof. Cold. That was what they took out of it. And hey, why should I reveal myself to you when I barely know you?

So I got through. School, I mean. The training academy. Cato was set to volunteer that year. Everyone thought he was ready. Everyone wanted him to be ready. You can imagine what that amount of attention did to his ego.

Oh, now. Don't look at me like that.

I can read it in your eyes. You're thinking, "Sour grapes. You like him. You're going on this way because you could never have him."

Calm down. See, you're rushing there again.

You haven't heard the whole story.

I didn't like him then.

To me he was this arrogant, picture-perfect playboy of the district. I wanted next to nothing to do with him.

So why this…talk about relationship with him, you ask?

I'm getting there.

I lived my life outside of the spotlight, and he relished his inside of it. I was glad that was the way it was. To have something to do with him, even talk, disgusted me. Those girls fainting over him were my entertainment.

Then the Reaping came.

I was a Career, you understand, and I was expected to be prepared. I just…wasn't prepared for Cato.

Ok. I know I'm going back and forth here. Of course I knew. Along with everyone else in Two that it was his year. That he was volunteering.

But what I least expected (leave it to the Capitol to use fate as a tool to fuck young adults over) was the idea of me with him.

His hand was warm and strong, his grip deadly when we shook hands. He looked me straight in the eyes. I stared back, unflinching.

_Bring it._

We still didn't talk.

Later, on board the train, he decided to start his invasion of my personal space.

"You're that girl."

I turned. He was leaning against the wall, eying me.

"What girl?" I asked, irritated. We didn't have to talk. It would be better if we didn't. We would kill one another to win the Games any day after the silly parade and interview and whistle sounded.

Cato chuckled. "The girl who would kill herself rather than talk to me."

He was handsome. I knew. Chiseled features. Bright blue eyes. Those things I could always hear girls whispering animatedly about in the back of some empty classroom. I suppose they'd die in my place, standing here, having the boy of their dreams waiting to talk to them, actually waiting to listen to what they have to say.

It wasn't awkward for me to talk to boys. It was no different. They were people. You could think I wasn't much of a romantic.

I stepped closer to him. "The rumors are more nasty than I thought. For your information, my life is of greater value to me than exchanging a few words with you."

He crossed his arms. Good. Biceps. "That's good to know."

I raised an eyebrow. As if that made a difference. I was about to step out of the room when I heard him mutter, "You're the second girl who's this calm talking to me."

Out of curiosity (seriously. just that.), I glanced back. "Oh, who's the first?" And telling you this now, I was trying my best to keep my sarcasm down. His tone was strange in a way I couldn't tell, a layer of him stripped away, maybe. I hadn't heard him say words that way (No. I am not a stalker. He's the flirty one.) before.

He had a little smug smile on his face for that one. For getting me back into the conversation. Huh.

"My sister," he said.

"Older or younger?" This was news to me. (Probably a fact featured in a prehistoric paper for his loyal followers). Besides, I couldn't imagine the 'brutal, bloody,' Cato with a sibling.

Hey, I really couldn't.

He looked away. "Younger. Kayla, thirteen."

My lips curved into an 'O.' "You miss her?"

His fist hit the wall beside him suddenly. He looked down. "Look, I'm not here to talk about that with you, whatever your name is."

And left.

Oh wow. There's your great and mighty Cato for you.

I didn't mind him not knowing my name, no.

That was good and well until we had to dress up for the fucking fancy parade everyone was making too big a deal out of.

I was doing it for my survival.

Yeah. I know what you're thinking.

I never thought I'd have to dress up to save my life, either.

xxx

**A/N: AH. This was supposed to be a one-shot. Clove has more to say, obviously XD.**

**Up next: Cato's turn.  
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	2. Him

**Disclaimer: Cato would have at least run to her in the movie...if I had my way.**

So you wanted to hear the whole thing.

Really. Surprises me that anyone would actually sit down and listen. It's not pretty.

If you were looking for a soppy, star-crossed tragedy, move on. These fragments of my memories—of her—are a perfectly organized mess.

She called my name. Did you know that? My name. Last word she ever uttered in this life—but we were Careers. Death was our inevitable enemy, clearly not our end—was my name.

And I tried. To run and save her. I could, you know. There he was, her murderer, towering over her.

I was almost there.

Don't ask me why I couldn't be there. Seconds counted. And so does your head resting on your shoulder.

I would tell you, except you wouldn't be conscious to hear it.

I'm sorry this got…dramatic all of a sudden. I'm not that kind of guy. You brought it up first. Her name. Triggered my memory about the last time I saw—and heard—her.

Dying. Desperate. Restless. Out of ways to save herself.

I didn't know she would call me.

I was hesitant, to be honest. Part of me wanted to rush over and save her, another part yelled at me to slow down and let events take its course.

Let other tributes be her murderer. Let the hand that twist her neck, stab her heart, or crush her skull not be mine.

I wasn't supposed to feel that way. Hell, I never felt that way about anyone. Killing was easy and painless. No regrets. Another dummy. Another person. Crushed. Gone. Snap.

I had no soul, or so they said.

Yet apparently she found one in me.

xxxx

Orange.

Second thing that reminded me of her.

The color of her Interview dress. Bright, lively, feisty, not without an edge of sourness. Like her. Exactly like her.

I feel like laughing now remembering how she bitched over the dress's frills.

"God," she swore, feet tapping the floor of our suite, "Could it get any worse?"

I shrugged. "You haven't dressed up before?"

The glare she shot me was a direct and immediate answer. This was one girl who did not like to be fucked with.

She bit her lip. "This is awful. A live broadcast." Her nimble finger played with the hem of the dress. "Caught in this…monstrous dress." A hand slid one of the high heels she was wearing (Even to me the Capitol fashion was over-the-top) off. "Stupid shoes."

I must have smiled involuntarily (Goddamn it. Since when?) because she looked up at me, a questioning glint in her eyes.

I put my hands up. "Nothing. Not making fun of you."

A scowl was what I got back in return. "You'd better not."

Tut, tut. Touchy. Don't get me wrong. I wasn't scared of her. Me? Scared of some girl I had never heard of before until two days ago? No.

Now you're going to play the old elimination guessing game and tell me I got involved with her because she was unlike other girls I had ever met. (Oh, a big shocker there. Bet you didn't see that one coming.)

Half true, I could say.

There were Cloves in my life. I enjoyed a good deal of challenge every now and then. One of my long-time girls was somewhat a Clove.

Naw, it didn't work out. I'm not one to commit myself to relationships. It was intriguing. The way the games kept changing half the time.

I told myself I knew how those girls worked. I'd bring up the same line, the same old yada-yada about being "so-calm" when talking to me. Just to pull them back into the conversation.

Wait, what's that?

Oh…uh, she's pretty real. Kayla. I talk to her all the time.

In my head.

You caught me. I'm going off on tangents here.

I don't want to talk about her. Be reminded of her.

Why am I here then?

I have no idea.

Just…get on with it, will you? If you're not asking me questions, I could leave.

…

Hmmm….you want me to stay?

I might.

Only for you, though.

Let me straighten this out.

Ok. Shoot.

No. It was nothing special. Her name and her score came up the screen.

That's right. I waited that long.

Or you could say she was that good at avoiding me. Barely saying words. Probably what she said about valuing her life more than talking to me was true.

A pint-size knife thrower who was so stuck on the Career Rules of not familiarizing yourself with your District partner. Disturbing. I was hoping for someone more…open…say, t hat District One blonde bombshell.

Instead I was sharing my suite with seriousness personified.

I looked down at her. "So, Clove, huh?"

We were lounging on the couch in the suite's living room. Just doing our homework, testing out competition. The usual.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You don't need to know it."

Making me the one who's putting the moves on her. Not bad.

But that was as far as I got.

Yeah, yeah. We weren't allowed to cheat before the Games and kill each other right there (I could have. She was getting on my last nerves.)

Almost a name too delicate for her, I thought. Clove…Clover…the leaf. It looked to me like some anger and violence were bottled up inside that body of hers.

She wasn't a sight, body-wise. Too petite for my taste.

And….? You're wondering…?

_Damn._ They want the real deal, eh? Up close and personal.

I'm not leaving you hanging here.

That.

It happened. I still have scars on my back. Fuck those nails (I liked to think they were claws). Believe me when I say she kissed like she talked. Her moans, her screams. Pain fused in with delight. The things I did to her. God, terrible.

So, so terrible.

It's so terrible I'm grinning playing the moments back in my mind, makes sense?

Oh no. That is crossing the line. That part's private. For my eyes and her memories. Let's keep it just to the talking, okay?

What?

Ah…how it happened?

Funny enough. Moving from barely knowing her name to on top of her?

You do make me laugh at the worst times.

I miss her.

Don't tell them that.

I'm no sentimental person.

I didn't break down because of her. Correction: I don't break down because of her.

Anyway.

It took time, you could tell, for her to thaw down the frigid queen mask. I didn't lead her on. No…I didn't want her that much. I wasn't too desperate.

It started with her discovering me in the most compromising position.

**A/N: Coming soon! **

**Ugh, took me forever to write this. Trying out a new style of writing.  
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**Goin' with the flow~  
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**Hope you like it, comments, reviews are very much appreciated.  
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**Thank you so much for everything,  
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**Loves,  
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**Your ever humble fanfic writer :)  
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